


Time After Time

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Whose Line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of love and friendship in the face of adversity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time After Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. No offense is intended to the people portrayed herein.

It’s cold out on the deck, but not uncomfortably so. The cabin, nestled into the mountainside, is protected to some extent by the tall pines crowding around on each flank and, although there had been a short burst of rain a little earlier, it has since cleared to leave a brighter sky and the sweet smell of damp earth and grass.

Colin takes a sip of coffee, pausing to savour the flood of warmth and flavour hitting his taste buds before settling back against the cool wood of his customary chair and enjoying the view. The sun is brushing the tips of the trees to the West, its colour deepening to a rich gold, and the wisps of remaining cloud drift lazily on a canvas of constantly changing pastel hues. 

It is simple moments like these that Colin appreciates the most—far removed from the madness that seems to dog his every step in daily life. He lifts his feet to rest them on the railing, reflecting on the past week and the set of circumstances that have brought him back to this place after so many years.

 

***

 

“Hello?” Colin almost has to shout into his cell phone to make himself heard over the racket that Brad is making in their shared dressing room, shooting the other man a reproving look. Sometimes it feels like he’s touring with a five year old.

“Colin? It’s Drew.”

“Oh, hey, Drew. Hang on—let me go somewhere quieter.” The last word is aimed more at Brad than the man on the other end of the phone, as he makes his way out into the corridor. The noise becomes muffled behind the closed door. “Sorry about that, Drew. What can I do for you?”

“Not for me. It’s Ryan.”

Colin feels his heartbeat stumble. His mind flies back to another telephone conversation a few short months ago and the day that had shaken his well-ordered life to the core with a single word. Such a simple word, and yet one which many people are almost afraid to say out loud for fear of its consequences. 

Cancer.

Colin had sat numbly through that conversation, the telephone receiver pressed tightly against his ear in case he’d heard wrong, but no such reprieve presented itself. His first instinct had been to catch the first flight he possibly could but Ryan, anticipating this, had told him to keep touring—insisted upon it, in fact—and, despite his head being anywhere but comedy, Colin had respected his wishes. He knew Ryan would be in good hands, of course, but that didn’t stop worry from seeping into every waking moment and disturbing his dreams.

“What’s happened?” he asks, his tone now more serious as he begins to walk. 

“He’s not in any immediate danger,” Drew assures him hurriedly, “but…” He pauses and Colin hears a loud exhale of breath. He pictures his friend sinking into his favourite armchair, perhaps a stiff drink on a table nearby. “He’s not coping well. He’s just finishing his second course of chemo and the doctors are positive about his chances, but it’s like he’s already given up.” There’s another pause, but Colin barely has time to process the information before Drew speaks again. 

“Colin, he needs you. He won’t admit it—this _is_ Ryan we’re talking about—but, trust me, he does. He’s withdrawing further into himself every day and there’s not a damn thing I, or anyone else here, can do about it. But maybe you can. I know you’re on tour—“

“Drew,” Colin cuts in firmly, coming to a stop halfway along the corridor. “I’m on my way.”

***

“Excuse me; I’m here to see Ryan Stiles.”

Colin’s body is stiff and aching after the long journey and his stomach’s empty, but seeing Ryan is more important than food or rest right now. The bored-looking woman at the desk spares Colin a brief glance, no doubt about to launch into a well-practiced monologue about hospital policy, and then does an almost comical double-take. She even goes so far as to venture a small smile, which only serves to make her expression a little more patronizing.

“Of course. He’s in room 224, down the hall to your right.”

Colin looks over at it briefly and then turns back. “Would it be possible to speak to his oncologist first?”

She looks sceptical but nevertheless reaches for the phone. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

Faster than Colin would have expected, Ryan’s oncologist appears. In his early thirties, sandy haired and tanned, with a good physique, he looks more like a professional surfer than a doctor but his firm hand shake and smile instantly put Colin at ease.

He’s understanding and sympathetic, reassuring Colin as best he can without giving away actual medical information which can only be discussed with family members, and walks with him to Ryan’s room. They pause outside to wrap up the conversation and Colin looks through the square glass panel in the door to the man beyond.

Ryan is sitting in a wheelchair beside the bed, facing away from him towards the window. Even in silhouette, Colin can see that he’s changed. He’s hunched, unmoving, strangely diminished—in every sense a shadow of the man who used to effortlessly take to the stage and hold an audience in the palm of his hand. A nurse is with him, extracting the IV tube from his arm with professional detachment.

As he asks the oncologist a final question, Ryan’s head lifts a fraction, his whole body suddenly more alert, and Colin knows he’s heard his voice. The nurse exits the room and, murmuring thanks to the doctor, Colin steps inside.

“What are you doing here?” 

Ryan’s tone is accusatory more than questioning, a rumble of anger bubbling beneath the surface. Colin decides to ignore it in favour of a casual approach, rounding the chair to face him.

“It’s good to see you, too, Ry.”

Ryan doesn’t offer a smile—he doesn’t even look up. “I told you not to come.”

“Yeah, well,” Colin pulls up a chair and sinks into it, “rumour has it you’re being a bad patient.”

At that, Ryan tilts his head up to meet Colin’s gaze for the first time. In the light, the change in him is more noticeable. He looks older, more fragile, his once thick head of hair now thinning from the poison pumped into his veins, but behind his eyes is still the man Colin’s always known—for so many years that he almost can’t remember being without him. A spark flares within the green irises but fades just as quickly. His tone remains uncomfortably numb.

“Go back to your tour, Col.”

Colin has a sudden urge to grab his friend by the shoulders and physically shake this uncharacteristic apathy out of him, but any such notion is dispelled by a new voice as the door opens once again and Pat enters briskly. She looks almost exactly the same as when Colin last saw her, except for perhaps a couple more lines to mark the years and her left hand is now devoid of rings. 

“Okay, Ryan, I’ve called the homeopath I was telling you about—she can fit you in on Thursday—and I’ve organized for a nurse to come to the house once a day—oh, hello Colin!”

Rising to greet her, Colin is abruptly enveloped in her flowery perfume. “Nice to see you, Pat.” 

“I didn’t realize you’d be visiting today.”

Colin glances down at Ryan. He’s slumped back into his stupor and shows no sign of joining the conversation. 

“Well, it was a last minute change of plans.”

His words fall on deaf ears—Pat’s attention is focused on Ryan once more. “Right, I’ll go and call the kids and then I’ll see about getting you something to eat. You’ve got nothing in you.”

As she continues her verbal assault, with a tone of almost brittle cheeriness, Ryan’s makes no attempt to respond, or shows any sign that he’s listening, but Colin can see that his eyes have dimmed a little more. It serves to set Colin on a firm course of action, damn the consequences.

Waiting until Pat sweeps out of the room, he grabs Ryan’s wheelchair. “Okay, come with me.”

“What are you doing?” Ryan protests, as Colin pushes him out of the room and up the corridor. It’s the most animated response Colin’s seen from him so far.

“We’ve got to get out of this place.”

“You can’t just—“

“Yes, I can,” Colin replies calmly. “I talked to your oncologist and he’s happy to send you home.”

Ryan falls silent and doesn’t utter another word while Colin proceeds to deal with the necessary paperwork. It’s only when they reach the parking lot that he speaks again.

“You drove here?”

Colin unlocks the trunk and throws Ryan’s bag in beside his own. “I couldn’t get a flight to LA, so I flew to San Francisco and picked up a rental.” 

Still weak from the chemotherapy, it takes some manuevering to get Ryan into the car. Once safely inside, he sinks back against the seat and closes his eyes. Colin climbs into the driver’s seat but pauses when he sees Ryan’s ashen complexion, worried that perhaps he’s not ready to leave the hospital. He’s on the point of openly questioning it when Ryan, no doubt sensing his hesitation, croaks out a single word.

“Drive.”

***

After being on the road for an hour or so, Ryan opens his eyes to blearily look out of the window and immediately frowns. “I thought you were taking me home.”

Colin glances over at him. “Not exactly.”

“Where are we going then?”

“Some place quieter,” Colin replies, smoothly overtaking the car in front. When Ryan’s eyes remain fixed on him, he smiles reassuringly. “Trust me.”

Three hours later, Ryan jerks awake and asks Colin to pull over. He looks, if possible, even paler, fine beads of perspiration visible on his forehead. Spotting a gas station and diner ahead, Colin turns in and, before he’s even finished killing the engine, Ryan is out of the car and stumbling towards the rest room.

Snatching the keys out of the ignition, Colin quickly follows. He can hear the unmistakable sound of retching before he pushes open the battered blue door and finds Ryan slumped on the dirty floor in one of the stalls, his head over the toilet. Seeing that the paper dispenser above him is empty, Colin checks the other stalls and manages to find a few remaining sheets.

“Here.” He speaks softly, holding them out for Ryan to take. His hand remains frozen in mid-air for several moments before Ryan shakily takes the paper from him without meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Colin leans his shoulder against the side of the stall. “I’ve seen worse. Remember those Friday nights in Vancouver?” 

When this attempt to lighten the moment is swallowed by silence, he tentatively lays a hand on Ryan’s hunched shoulder. It’s instantly shaken off.

“Just leave me be. I don’t need your pity.”

Colin drops his hand, deciding that enough is enough. “No, you’re in a big enough pool of your own right now. Care to swim to the side and dry off?”

The words, combined with the edge to his tone, force Ryan’s head up and, this time, there’s no mistaking the real anger that emerges.

“Don’t fucking lecture me. You haven’t had to live with this for the past four months—countless doctors, tests, injections, puking your guts up after every treatment until there’s nothing left and continuing to dry retch until your stomach feels like a fucking punch bag, so weak that you can’t even pick up your own child.”

Colin meets his gaze unflinchingly, his voice rising slightly in volume to match Ryan’s. “No, I haven’t, because you wouldn’t let me past your damned pride. You know I would have been here in an instant otherwise.”

Ryan struggles to his feet, yanking on the chain to flush, and staggers past Colin towards the sink. He leans on it heavily. “I don’t know how to deal with… _this_.” With a sudden force he punches the wall, leaving a sizeable indentation in the plaster. Looking at the state of the rest of the wall, Colin doubts anyone will notice.

“That’s a start,” he replies, addressing Ryan’s reflection. “You’ve got to let your feelings out before you can deal with them.” 

Ryan scoffs and runs the cold water, washing his hands before splashing some on his face. Colin continues to study him intently.

“It’s okay to be afraid, Ry.”

Pausing, Ryan’s hands slip from his face as Colin takes a few steps forward. When he places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder again, it’s allowed to remain.

“But you can beat this—I know it. Don’t give up.” With a final squeeze of his hand, he heads for the door. “I’ll be outside.”

 

Ryan rejoins him ten minutes later, still pale but with a little more strength in his steps. Colin wordlessly passes him a bottle of water, receiving a nod of thanks, and goes back to sipping his coffee as they both lean against the car.

“You know, Pat’s probably called the police, the feds, and the National Guard by now to report my kidnapping. You’ll be a wanted fugitive.”

Colin smiles around his mouthful and shakes his head, swallowing. “I called her from the road and told her to call off the search. She’s pissed that I took you, but glad you’re okay.”

“She’s only pissed because she wants to be in control,” Ryan grumbles, unscrewing the cap of his bottle and taking a sip. He refuses the sandwich Colin offers. “She’s been almost unbearable since my diagnosis.”

Colin looks sideways at him. He’s never been particularly close to Pat, but the fact that both of them are now very much in the same boat with regards to Ryan makes him appreciate her motivations and prompts his defence of them. “She loves you. The divorce hasn’t changed that.”

Ryan makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and puts his bottle down on the hood. “So, where the hell are we? Are you smuggling me across the border?”

“No,” Colin snorts, straightening up and heading over to the driver’s side. “We should be there by lunch-time.”

“Where?”

Colin continues to smile serenely and gets back into the car, starting the engine.

 

“What’s the stash of M&M’s for?”

They’ve been back on the road for nearly forty minutes, winding through increasingly wild countryside, the string of classic hits on the radio negating the need for much conversation. Ryan holds up the half-empty bag, and Colin shrugs.

“I drove all night. Eating small amounts of chocolate at regular intervals always helps to keep me awake.”

“How long have you been awake?”

Colin squints as his foggy brain attempts to work it out. “Apart from a short nap on the flight… twenty eight hours.”

“Twenty eight hours?” Ryan repeats, shifting in his seat towards Colin. “Jesus, and I thought _I_ was tired.”

“I’m fine,” Colin assures him, smiling. “The caffeine’s kicked in.” While that’s not exactly true, he’s certain that he’s feeling far better than his passenger. It’s obvious from his complexion that Ryan’s still feeling nauseous, and Colin can see the shakes that he’s trying to hide.

They lapse into silence again. When Colin next looks over, Ryan has fallen into another doze, his head resting back against the window. Colin turns up the heat a little and hums quietly to _Hotel California_.

***

Their destination lies at the end of a rough dirt track, a couple of miles from the nearest road. Despite trying to navigate his way around the potholes and fallen branches, the uneven surface soon jolts Ryan awake.

“Sorry,” Colin grimaces, pulling hard on the steering wheel to avoid a particularly big hole. “We’re almost there.”

Ryan stretches as best he can in the cramped space and looks out at the mass of trees sloping down the hillside. His eyes fill with a dawning recognition as the road widens slightly, the trees thinning to reveal glimpses of the impressive scenery, and the cabin finally comes into view. He doesn’t wait for Colin when the car pulls up—he immediately gets out to walk towards the front door, his steps a little unsteady but determined. Colin follows with a small smile, plucking the key from beneath the welcome mat.

The cabin is the only thing in his life that Colin has ever bought on a whim, back when he was getting steady paychecks for Whose Line. He’s never been one to throw money around—a few rough patches early in his career made him appreciate every dollar—but something had made him throw caution to the wind and buy it, no doubt helped by Ryan’s encouragement and small contribution to it as a birthday gift. It quickly became their sanctuary, and many times, in-between filming in LA, he and Ryan had fled the heat and bustle of the city to come here.

It all seems so long ago now but, pushing open the door, it’s like nothing’s changed—the comfy couch and armchairs are just as he left them, almost as if someone had been sitting there only a moment ago, the large rug stretched in front of the fireplace beneath a softly ticking clock on the mantelpiece, novels huddled together on the bookshelf—a swathe of warm colours and natural wood welcoming him home.

Ryan steps inside first, his eyes shining. “I’d almost forgotten about this place.” He touches the wooden table lightly, reverently, and then turns. “You kept it?”

Colin walks through to open the doors onto the deck, allowing fresh air to waft inside, bringing with it the rich scent of pine and spring blossom. “I thought it might come in useful, for a family holiday or something.” He knows that’s a lie—he’d never bring Deb here—but he doesn’t want to mention the main reason for not selling, pressing on with, “Someone cleans and airs it out a bit every month, just in case.”

Ryan walks past him, onto the deck, and leans against the railing, breathing in deeply. “It’s a long way from LA.”

Leaving Ryan to enjoy the view, Colin fetches their bags from the car—along with the supplies he’d picked up on the way while Ryan had been asleep. He prepares a light lunch, and Ryan manages to eat a little before going to lie down. Colin checks on him a little later, having cleared the dishes and unpacked, and, finding him asleep, covers his slender frame with a blanket and goes to rest himself.

Colin’s awoken some hours later by a loud thump. He sits up quickly in the dark, disorientated for a moment before realizing where he is, and calls through to the next room, trying to stem the flood of concern. “You okay, Ry?”

“Yeah,” Ryan answers, almost immediately, easing some of Colin’s anxiety. “I just forgot where the wall was.”

Colin snorts in amused relief and swings his legs off the bed, stretching, his body thrumming with warm contentment after his sleep. A growl from his stomach indicates the next order of business so he pads to the kitchen and sets about making dinner. Ryan joins him shortly afterwards and sits at the counter as he cooks, the way he always used to.

***

The next few days are just as relaxed, without any sort of schedule. They eat and sleep when they choose—whatever the time—and spend many hours engaged in easy conversation, or simply enjoying the pleasant company and spectacular scenery without the need or pressure to talk. When the sun shines, they sit out on deck—sometimes playing cards with the pack Colin discovered at the back of a drawer, filling the air every so often with cries of triumph or good-natured curses—and when storm clouds gather and the view is lost behind a curtain of rain, they retreat inside and sit by the fire. They exist only in the present, with no mention of anything beyond it, and, as such, find a peace that neither has felt in a long time.

In the early hours of the fifth day, Colin wakes to find himself on the couch next to a half-empty bottle of wine and a sleeping Ryan. He gently rises, intending to cover Ryan with a blanket and retreat to bed, but finds his hand caught. Gentle eyes meet his, conveying an unspoken plea— _stay_.

He can’t refuse, and when Ryan’s hand curls around his neck and pulls him close—lips ghosting across each other tentatively at first, reacquainting, then pressing more insistently as confidence grows—it feels as if this moment was inevitable from the moment he walked into that hospital room and back into Ryan’s life.

 

***

 

“What are you thinking about out here?”

Colin blinks, memories fading back to reality as Ryan settles in the chair beside him. It’s much darker now that the sun has vanished behind the horizon, the glow gradually fading. He looks across at the other man and smiles. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet.” 

Ryan smiles back, then gazes out across the dimly lit landscape spread beneath the emerging stars, a totally different man to the one Colin snatched from the medical centre a week ago. Colin continues to study him, hesitating before saying what he knows he must. 

“Your oncologist called.”

He hates himself for having to break the unspoken rule, destroying the haven they’ve created with an unwelcome dose of reality, but he has no choice. Time is against them.

Ryan’s gaze continues to drift over the silhouetted trees, staying silent for so long that Colin begins to wonder if he’s even heard him. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “I have to go back.” 

“I’m sorry,” Colin says softly, and means it—he’d trade his own life for the man next to him. “You have more tests scheduled on Wednesday.”

Ryan lets out a breath, and then turns his head to meet Colin’s gaze. “Will you stay?”

Colin knows how much it has cost him to ask, and he doesn’t think twice about his answer. “As long as you need me.”

Content, Ryan settles back more comfortably—the hush of twilight broken only by the sigh of the breeze as, side by side, they watch the moon rise to greet the stars above.

 

The End.


End file.
